Lord Lytton

Oh, better no doubt is a dinner of herbs,
When season'd with love, which no rancour disturbs
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Oh, better no doubt is a dinner of herbs,
When season'd with love, which no rancour disturbs
And sweeten'd by all that is sweetest in life
Than turbot, bisque, ortolans, eaten in strife!
But if, out of humour, and hungry, alone
A man should sit down to dinner, each one
Of the dishes which the cook chooses to spoil
With a horrible mixture of garlic and oil,
The chances are ten against one, I must own,
He gets up as ill-tempered as when he sat down.

No star ever rose or set without influence somewhere.

No star ever rose or set without influence somewhere.

The first wan cowslip, wet
With tears of the first morn.

The first wan cowslip, wet
With tears of the first morn.

O hour, of all hours, the most blesse'd upon earth,
The bless'd hour of our dinners!

O hour, of all hours, the most blesse'd upon earth,
The bless'd hour of our dinners!

The sylphs and ondines
And the sea-kings and queens
Long ago, long ago, on the waves built read more

The sylphs and ondines
And the sea-kings and queens
Long ago, long ago, on the waves built a city,
As lovely as seems
To some bard in his dreams,
The soul of his latest love-ditty.